America's pursuit of the stars ought to be guided by wonder and not dominion.
For millennia, humans have looked to the stars in wonder, anchoring their attempts to understand their place in the universe. From Ptolemy and Aristotle to Copernicus, the heavens have served as both a guide and a mystery—a connection between humanity and the divine. For the Greeks, the cosmos (κόσμος) represented a well-ordered system, a harmonious whole governed by logic and standing in opposition to chaos. Yet for the early Church Fathers, this same concept of the cosmos became a cautionary symbol, embodying human striving divorced from divine purpose and descending into chaos.
This tension between order and chaos echoes today as humanity’s relationship to space takes on new dimensions. On Monday, January the 20th, many Americans tuned in to hear President Trump outline his vision for a maximalist second term. Among his bold proclamations was an appeal to a new era of American exceptionalism in space:
"We will pursue our manifest destiny into the stars, launching American astronauts to plant the Stars and Stripes on the planet Mars."
Trump’s comments, steeped in the language of manifest destiny, evoke a powerful yet fraught vision of space as the next frontier. They mirror Frederick Jackson Turner’s thesis that the American character was shaped by its interaction with the frontier—a liminal space of opportunity and reinvention. Yet this rhetoric raises urgent questions: Should the cosmos be viewed as a battleground for dominance, a realm preordained for American hegemony? Or does space demand a different kind of engagement, one rooted in humility, wonder, and respect for its inherent beauty and mystery?
In his 1938 novel Out of the Silent Planet, and really the Space Trilogy as a whole, C.S. Lewis offers a profound counterpoint to Trump’s rhetoric in his novel In it, the protagonist Ransom begins his journey perceiving space as cold and empty, a void to be traversed. Yet as he ventures to Malacandra, he discovers that space—far from being a barren wasteland—is alive with divine order and purpose. Lewis writes,
“He had thought of space as the mere blackness between the stars, but now, as he saw it, he realized that the heavens were full of life, vibrant with the presence of God.”
Thus, he took the cosmos as wonderful, due in part, because it reflected humanity; we, as Christians would have it, see a mirror into ourselves within the stars, for we share a common creator. This shift in perspective transforms space from something to be mastered into something to be understood and to be in awe of—a realm of beauty that reflects the order of creation rather than the chaos of human ambition.
Yet if space is not simply another frontier to conquer, what does it demand of us? It requires us to grapple with our relationship to technology and its purpose in our lives. As our capacity for space travel grows, we must ensure that the technocratic impulse to dominate and exploit does not overwhelm what is important to humans: wonder, creativity, and moral cultivation. Walter Miller Jr. 's A Canticle for Leibowitz warns of the dangers of allowing technological progress to outrun moral wisdom. In Miller’s world, human civilization repeatedly destroys itself because it fails to recognize that technological prowess without a corresponding ethical framework leads not to flourishing but to devastation.
Trump’s rhetoric about space risks reinforcing this technocratic mindset. Thus, reducing exploration to a pursuit of power and dominion. Instead, space offers an opportunity to redefine our relationship to technology—not as a tool for conquest but as an extension of human creativity and a reflection of our highest values. Future space exploration, which will surely require a transformation in our relationship to technology, must be guided by the principles of stewardship, humility, and wonder. After all, our tools should serve humanity rather than subjugate it. In the words of Lewis Mumford, after all, “Life cannot be delegated.” We must avoid another bilateral Space Race with efficiency as the name of the game.
As a child, I experienced this wonder firsthand through games like Super Mario Galaxy, where the seemingly desolate expanse of space became a vibrant, joyful realm of exploration. Planets of all shapes and sizes came alive with purpose, mystery, and beauty. This sense of awe—echoed in the orchestral score and imaginative landscapes—reminded me that space is, above all, a source of inspiration. It is a place that transcends the chaos of human striving and draws us toward something greater than ourselves. It is not empty, but rather imbued with creation.
If America is to pursue its next frontier in the stars, it must do so with humility and purpose, resisting the temptation to impose earthly ambitions on the cosmos. This doesn’t apply merely to the great beyond. As the United States navigates its waning unipolar moment and grapples with challenges from Eurasian aggressors, its vision for space exploration must embody the ideals of thoughtful leadership, scientific discovery, and respect for the inherent beauty of the heavens.
Space, like the Greek cosmos, invites us to seek order and meaning. It is a realm not to be dominated but to be understood—a mirror of humanity’s capacity for both chaos and creation. As we look to the stars, let us not lose sight of the truth, good, and beauty that beckon us, reminding us that our ultimate purpose is not stellar conquest but in bringing about a more perfect republic here on Planet Earth.
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